Q was used to scenes of pandemonium. It came with the territory of being a stage magician, after all. Once, he'd gotten an audience in Reno completely up in arms when he'd pretended that he couldn't reverse the "transformation" of one of the audience participators from a chimpanzee back to a human being. The lie had been intended to get them on the edge of their seats; to really play with their disbelief. Even though he'd "transformed" the woman back with ease, the panic-stricken gamblers hadn't been impressed.
The scene in the stadium behind him was nothing compared to that incident, however. Certainly the hundred-some socialites and their families and friends were just about as hoity-toity as the audiences Q had once entertained in casino's all over the continent. But the effect of his disappearing act had left them in a complete state of riotous panic.
At least once they'd realized what it was that their hired entertainment had disappeared with.
As he hurried down the empty, concrete lined corridor beneath the stadium stands, Q spared his hostage a sideways glance. He had to admit that the teenage girl was holding up quite well for having just been kidnapped. The her bleach blonde hair, stylishly pinned up for her birthday party, hadn't even fallen a lock out of place. She walked beside Q, keeping stride with him in spite of the handcuffs he'd immediately bound her with. And, in spite of the brisk pace Q was moving them along the maze of underground corridors with, the girl hadn't tripped once over the high heels that Q knew probably cost more than he was able to make in three months.
He wasn't going to hurt her. Not only would she be far more valuable alive, but Q just couldn't stomach the idea of killing an innocent person.
Anybody who got in the way of his escape, however...
Q turned them sharply as they rounded a bend in the corridor. All he needed to do was get them out through the maintenance exit and it would be a hop, skip and a jump to his getaway vehicle. From there, he would take to the remains of Harlem, and hide among the crooks that had collected in the place known as Hell's Kitchen. The derivative title the place had been given in the last several months was enough to make Q snort derisively.
Being nearly flattened by The Avengers' battle with whatever it was that had tried to attack New York City had given the section of the city a strange sense of entitled aggression. As much as people tried to help Hell's Kitchen, it had fallen into complete disarray weeks after the battle. Under any other circumstance, Q would have avoided that section of The Big Apple altogether. But among the makeshift shanty dwellings and the barely put-back-together apartment buildings Hell's Kitchen would be the perfect place to hide his hostage.
At least until the girl's mother and her political party paid him the ransom.
One half of the corridor was bathed in darkness. The lights had been broken by a party celebrating some idiotic sports team's win several nights previously. Q could just see the red glow of the exit symbol at the end of the hallway.
"Not too far now, sweetheart," Q said, tugging the girl forward again. Once again, her poise on the spindly high heels astounded him. Everything about her, from her dyed hair to the poofy pink Sweet Sixteen dress she wore set Q's anger on edge. But he tampered that anger. It wasn't this girl's fault that her idiotic senator of a mother had decided to come visiting New York City. Really when he thought about it, Q didn't know if the girl herself had suggested renting out Yankee Stadium for no other reason than to host a birthday party.
The girl said nothing, but huffed angrily as Q urged her along. Q glared sideways at her, and reached into the deep pockets of his long, black overcoat. He forced himself not to turn his irritation on his hostage, however. It wouldn't do good to get her screaming or yelling at him, not when they were this close to being to his mode of transport. In any case, he was saving his true potential for anybody who tried to interfere with his getaway.
However, he wasn't going to just let the little brat wear on his nerves, not after all that he was risking in taking her hostage in the first place. Q stopped, just in the middle of the hallway, and wrenched the girl around so that he was looking her dead in the face.
"I understand that you're used to people being at your beck and call in your every day life," he said darkly. "But need I remind you that you are not in a position of power at the moment. Far from it."
The girl rolled her eyes. With atypical teenage rebellion, she kept her gaze fixedly on the dark, concrete wall next to them. "Whatever," she said. It was a disaffected sigh, completely adolescent and belying her upper class entitlement. She wasn't afraid of him, in spite of the feat he'd pulled to get her on stage and right into the palm of his hand.
Q smiled acidly at the girl. Very well. If she thought that she wasn't in any danger, he would have to instill at least a modicum of fear in her. He reached behind his head with one gloved hand. The gloves, like his overcoat, were black, and went up to his elbow. They'd been a remnant from the first costume he'd over worn during his early days doing stage shows. Nostalgia kept him from parting with them, in spite of the ridicule it earned him.
In any case, the gloves were the least of his costume. He pulled the purple hood over his head, and then pressed on a small button sewn just under the overlarge lapel of his overcoat. He couldn't see the almost paper thin visor obscure his face. From his perspective, he was still looking at his hostage.
The girl's aloofness vanished a split second after Q's visor screened his face. It was an invention of his own, put together with spare, stolen technology from the multiple television shows and movies he'd worked on to pay the bills in the early days. It was a mask, outwardly showing a mirror-like surface. Via optical illusion, however, the surface of Q's visor tended to show various countenances the the observer, none of them pleasant.
And judging from the half-step she took away from him, Q's hostage hadn't seen anything at all pleasant reflected back in his mirror-like mask.
"That's better," Q said. He heard his voice in deep, menacing waver, just another effect of the screen-like mask. "Are you going to behave now?" The girl gulped, nodded and then fell into step behind Q as he took them quickly through the hallway. He did not lower his mask. He felt safer with it during the best of days, and in any case, all he had to do was turn to the girl if she gave lip again and she would be quelled.
At that moment, a thunder of footsteps hurtled down the corridor behind Q and his petrified hostage. Cursing, Q whirled around to face seven members of the police force. He quirked an eyebrow beneath the surface of his mirror-like mask. He hadn't been expecting the senator to go for security so quickly. But New York City was New York City, after all, and in the months following the extraterrestrial attack, the police force had been bumped up considerably. Whether this was out of a serious realization of their duty to protect or a petulant response to the fact that The Avengers and Spider-Man were making the NYPD look lazy was entirely up to debate.
The police fanned out, guns drawn. None of them lowered their weapons as they faced Q, but he could see the shock and fear in thier eyes as they took in whatever it was that the screen covering his face was choosing to show them.
"Give it up, Beck," the officer on point said after recovering from the shock.
Q smirked beneath his mask, and reached into the pockets of his trench coat. "How marvelous," he said. "My reputation seems to precede me."
"Hands where I can see them!" The officer shouted.
"Very well," Q replied. "It's your loss, really." And with that, he flung several small, glass spheres onto the ground at the feet of the battalion. The glass exploded outwards, peppering Q and his hostage with pellets of glass. Thick smoke, acidic purple and toxic green, filled the corridor. Safely hidden behind his mask, Q was completely unaffected by the stuff, but his hostage, and the group of police officers, began to cough violently. Without a second thought, Q seized the girl by the wrist and dragged her away from the scene and towards the exit.
Really, the smoke was the least of what he could do. But he still wasn't ready to pull out all the stops at this point. It was a common trope of his profession, after all. Don't let the audience see the more breathtaking tricks until they'd had their curiosity piqued by the more amateur illusions.
Q threw his shoulder into the exit door. Brilliant sunlit made the magician and his still sputtering, gasping hostage stop. After nearly ten minutes of running through dim corridors, the late-afternoon May sunshine was almost as blinding as a spotlight. Overhead, the blue sky was peppered with fluffy white clouds, more telling of high summer than late spring. It was a beautiful day, and if Q could make it across the North parking lot of the stadium to his getaway car then it would be all the more beautiful.
He yanked on the handcuffed girl, intending to pull her across the concrete towards the unassuming, dull green Beetle that was parked among the more expensive cars.
His hand felt thin air.
The girl was gone.
Grimacing, Q whirled around and felt irritation spike through him, mingled with the smallest feeling of satisfaction. He'd have been a fool to expect to get away easily without encountering one of New York City's idiotic, costumed superheroes.
Spider-Man was stuck at least ten feet above the ground on the outside of the stadium. In one arm, he cluthced Q's hostage; the girl's eyes were staring with wide-eyed, adoring relief at the wall-crawler, who was plainly looking at Q. The eyes of his mask prevented the magician from knowing just what it was that the hero was thinking, but for some reason Q knew that Spider-Man wasn't remotely afraid of whatever it was that he saw on the screen.
"Spider-Man," Q said coldly, fishing in the front of his trench coat again for another glass sphere.
"Fish-Bowl Face Man," the web-slinger replied in an equally cold voice.
Q's fingers curled in fury around one of the orbs remaining in his pocket. Years of performing for audiences should have made him immune to ridicule. In his earliest days of stage magic, he'd been booed out of dive bars and amateur comedy clubs more than once. But somehow, he could never seem to get over that feeling of stinging, cold rage that would tear through him whenever people didn't appreciate his considerable talent. He was the greatest stage magician in North America, and if Spider-Man didn't see that now, then he certainly would in a matter of seconds.
"Names are so trite, Spider-Man," Q said. "But if you really want to be polite, you may call me The Magnificent Mysterio." It was the stage name that Q had been operating under during his time in Nevada, and he thought that it had a nice, retro ring to it.
Spider-Man, however, merely snorted at the mention of it. The girl in his grip also let out a giggle at the mention.
Q glared at them. Very well. If they weren't going to be cowed by whatever they saw in his mask, then he would make them very afraid.
"Let's see how funny you think I am once you meet my friend," Q said coldly. Overhead, he could hear the dull chopping sound of the approaching police helicopter. He was wasting too much time and he wasn't going to let Spider-Man of all people delay the inevitable. With a cry of vindictive rage, Q threw one glass sphere just under the spot where Spider-Man was stuck to the wall of the stadium.
This orb was different from the smoke balls that he had thrown at the police. It was an invention of his own, and purely technological. Mainstream magicians would have scoffed at the idea of using science in their art, but Q was above such amateurs. After all, illusions did not necessarily have to be rely solely on the disbelief of an unwitting audience.
The second the sphere touched the concrete, an enormous, thirty foot king cobra erupted from it's depths. The creature uncoiled, it's crest flaring outwards as it turned its hypnotic gaze towards Spider-Man and the hostage. The snake stretched its jaw and let out a hiss. Spider-Man leaped out of the way as the cobra lunged at the wall. And Q, waiting just by the serpent's tail, was quick enough to throw several smoke orbs at the wall-crawler as he landed. Spider-Man let out a confused snarl, and loosened his grip on the hostage.
That was all the give that Q needed. Crawling low through he swirling, purple smoke, he seized the girl by the wrist, and dragged her to her feet.
"I hope you're not afraid of snakes, Spider-Man," Q said. The wall crawler whirled around. As quickly as he could, Q pressed another button beneath the lapel of his trenchcoat. Several copies of himself, all clutching the terrified hostage, appeared in a circle, surrounding Spider-Man and the towering cobra. The hero lunged at the once nearest, which flickered as he dove through it. "And now," Q said, "if you'll excuse me, I have a disappearing act to attend to."
And with that, the magician spun on his heel, and vanished, appearing seconds later within the confines of his car, the terrified teenage girl screaming and kicking as he flung her into the passenger seat.
"Well...I certainly wasn't expecting that," Spider-Man said as he sprung back to his feet and stared up at the towering king cobra above him. The snake swayed, staring down at him with its exaggeratedly evil eyes. The several copies of Mysterio and his hostage had vanished almost the second the web-slinger had attempted to tackle one of them. Bloody illusionists, Spider-Man thought to himself. He jumped out of the way as the snake slashed its tail out at him.
He shot a web to the wall of the stadium, and swung as high as he could as the serpent began to bite and spit at him. Spider-Man had no idea just how in the world Mysterio had managed to pull a thirty foot snake out of his pocket, and at the moment it was the least of his worries. Now I really wish I'd paid more attention to all those crappy Criss Angel shows, he thought as he surveyed the swaying cobra.
For a moment, the snake's eyes met his. Then it lunged again. Reeling in the reflex to automatically dive out of the way, Spider-Man held his ground until he saw the yellow of the reptile's eyes. Then he leapt as far as he could sideways. He'd expected the snake to collide withe side of the stadium, hoping to daze the beast in enough time to get a handle on the situation.
What he hadn't expected was for one third of the cobra's body to disappear into the side of the building as if it were made of nothing of pure air.
Spider-Man, perched on the side of the stadium, stared as the cobra extracted itself from the solid concrete as if nothing had happened.
"Oh, lovely," the wall-crawler sighed. "Another goddamn illusion." The cobra lunged at him once more, and Spider-Man took the opportunity to swing down to the parking lot below. The purple smoke was now nothing more than a fine, lingering mist. And through it, Spider-Man could see the glass orb that Mysterio had thrown from his pocket before the gigantic cobra had appeared.
The snake hissed loudly as it coiled around itself and attempted to once more swallow Spider-Man whole. Shaking his head, the web-slinger completely ignored the creature. He flung his wrist out, fired a web at the glass ball, and tugged it towards himself. He had a brief glimpse of several small apparatuses within the sphere. "It's a projector," Spider-Man said noncommittally as he shattered the orb onto the ground. A loud, mechanical hiss filled the air and the illusion of the cobra behind him sputtered several times before disappearing.
Spider-Man looked around and saw that Mysterio had gotten away in the few minutes since he'd sicced the fake cobra on him. Grimacing, the hero looked upwards, and saw three police helicopters hovering over a spot on the near highway.
Really, Spider-Man thought as he fired a web at the nearest chopper, it's bad enough that this nut didn't even have the nads to face me directly. Now he's leading me and the NYPD on a car chase that he's got no chance of winning. Somewhere in the part of his rational mind, Spider-Man knew that his anger was somewhat misplaced. It wasn't Mysterio's fault-well technically it was for having been a criminal in the first place-but it wasn't his fault that his amateur kidnapping stunt had been the high point of Spider-Man's entire month thus far.
Using the distance and speed that the police chopper was moving at, Spider-Man swung far from Yankee Stadium. The street below turned into a blur of grey concrete and multicolored cars as he went. It didn't take him long to find the car that Mysterio must have taken off in. There were at least six police cars pursuing a small, green, old fashioned Beetle, which was speeding down the oncoming lane of traffic.
What a ham, Spider-Man thought as he let go of his webbing and fell into a dive. Any kidnapper, at least the ones that the web-slinger was used to dealing with, would do their best to keep a low profile. Mysterio was clearly relishing the attention being paid to him, which didn't surprise Spider-Man in the least.
He landed on the top of the Beetle with a loud thud. A split second later he saw several glass orbs go flying out of the driver's side window. Quick as he could, Spider-Man caught them in rapidly fired lines of webbing. Then he shattered the rear passenger window and threw the orbs into the back seat. Purple and green smoke exploded in the confines of the car. For a moment, the vehicle wobbled from side to side before going into a flat out, careening spin. Deftly, Spider-Man leapt off of the Beetle, arching into the air and coming to land several hundred yards away from the out-of-control car.
Shaking his head, the hero fired several lines of webbing onto the hood of the Beetle and, working with momentum, managed pull the car out of it's spin. It banged against the guard rail, a little bit too hard for Spider-Man's liking. But it had come to a rest, circus-style smoke billowing out of the open front windows, and that was good enough for him. Spider-Man walked towards the car as the pursuing police force skidded to a halt around the vehicle.
A moment later, the front door opened, and Mysterio clambered out, his glass-like mask still concealing his face from beneath his purple hood. He'd somehow managed to drag the coughing, spluttering teenage hostage out with him, his arm pressed around her neck.
"You haven't won this, Spider-Man!" Mysterio crowed, ignoring the multiple guns now pointed at him. Whatever it was that Spider-Man hadn't won, the wall-crawler didn't wait around to find out. Nonchalantly, he fired a web at Mysterio's face and jerked him violently towards him. The hostage went tumbling from his arm, and sprawled to the concrete on her hands and knees. Before the magician could so much as squirm in protest, Spider-Man drew his fist back and punched him square in his mirroresque visor.
Spider-Man half expected the mask to shatter like glass, but it felt more like liquid in the split second it took for his knuckles to pass through it and connect with Mysterio's nose. The crook let out a groan, and collapsed to the ground. Shaking his head, Spider-Man stood over the fallen kidnapper as four police officers swarmed around him. One jerked the hood back from his face, revealing a smooth, bald head.
"Quinten Beck," said one of the officers as Mysterio was kicked unceremoniously onto his back.
"And he would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for that meddling Spider-Man," said the wall-crawler. Several of the officers let out hearty chuckles as they slapped Quinten Beck in handcuffs.
"Thanks a lot, Spidey.".
Spider-Man merely shrugged. "It was nothing," he said. And really, compared to the kind of chaos he was used to, chasing down Mysterio really was nothing.
A split second later, something collided with him. Surprise made him stagger sideways, and he looked down to see that the finely dressed girl Mysterio had taken hostage was now hugging him as if her life depended on it.
"Thank you!" She said, looking up at him with grateful eyes.
"Don't worry about it," Spider-Man said. The underwhelming feeling he'd felt during the entirety of the chase disappeared as he took in the relief on the girl's face. This was what he did it for, after all. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.
The girl relinquished her grip on his waist. "This was, like, so amazing!"
"I try."
"I mean, I was totally hoping that, like, maybe Iron Man would've come to save me. Or, like, maybe even Hawkeye because he's got, like, such a great fashion sense, but you're just as good." She looked around at the police officers, some of whom were grinning in barely concealed amusement. "Does anybody have a cell phone? I wanna take a picture for my Instagram account."
"And to that," Spider Man said, firing a web up high to one of the buildings that bordered the street, "an extreme goodbye." He pushed off the ground, somewhat harder than he meant too, his irritation returning with a vengeance.
It's your job, he reminded himself as he swung along the streets of The Bronx. It is your job, and you should be damn grateful that you've got a little bit of help. And yet, try as he might, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of annoyance that he felt whenever people brought up the recent arrival of The Avengers. The team had done the city a power of good, especially during the sudden attack by an alien race. But for some reason, people expected Iron Man and his team of heroes to be around for every kitten stuck up a tree, and that, as Spider-Man had learned in the two months since the alien attack on Harlem, was not what The Avengers were around for.
The Avengers were around to take care of the really, really big stuff. And they just couldn't have been bothered to have tried to take on Doc Ock last Christmas, Spider-Man thought bitterly as he swung towards Broadway. In the wake of the mad doctor's attack, The Big Apple just hadn't been able to catch a break. And now that The Avengers had set their permanent residence where Stark Tower had once been, there were more heroes than ever to come to the aid of the city, and the world at large.
And what am I? Radioactively enhanced chopped liver? Spider-Man thought wistfully as he went into a free fall. He'd been swinging through the streets of New York City since before Iron Man had been patrolling the skies. It was petulant and immature, but he always thought of New York City as his to protect in league with all the regular defenders of the city. The Avengers' presence wouldn't have stung so much if they'd just thought to reach out to him. And yet somehow, he felt as if they'd regulated him to some kind of amateur, spandex wearing member of the brute squad.
Unconsciously, Spider-Man swung past a large billboard that sat atop a building near Broadway. He paused, perching on the top of a street lamp so he could look at the image on the advertisement. It always helped calm him down whenever he got into funks like this. Out of all the billboards and massive posters heralding the shows on Broadway, this was his favorite. Blown up to gigantic size was the stunning face of one of the people who always brought him back down whenever he was in a foul mood. Her luxurious red hair had been brushed back, falling in an unkempt yet stylish curtain around her beautiful face. Stormy green eyes looked at him from across the street, giving him a look that, even in its composure, still seemed to be knowing.
"Yeah, yeah," he said with a small grin. "I know, MJ. 'Get your lips of the floor.'" It was exactly what she would say if she knew what he was thinking. And, as usual, he always conceded, because Mary Jane was always in the right whenever she talked him down from one of his more morose moods.
Today wasn't about him, in any case, as the billboard reminded him. It was about Mary Jane, and her opening night in a Broadway revival of Lis Miserables. Spider-Man had known just enough about the epic musical before MJ had landed the part to know that the role of Eponine was kind of a big deal. And, as he looked at the stylish text beneath MJ's face on the billboard, text that spelled out "Broadway's Newest Star-Mary Jane Watson", Spider-Man couldn't help but feel a rush of pride for the woman he loved.
It's not always about you, idiot, he reminded himself as he pushed off from the ledge and swung towards the Queensboro Bridge. He had a wonderful life, compared to most people. Especially compared to those who had been directly impacted by The Avengers' battle against the invading alien species.
His girlfriend was the most beautiful, generous, intoxicating, resilient woman in the world. For some strange reason, she was still crazy about him even six months after being kidnapped by Doc Ock; even after nights of his chasing down vagabonds in the middle of the night and not coming home until the small hours of the morning, only to face a long day of work. Even knowing that there was still a very small part of Peter Parker that would forever hold onto the memory of his first love, Mary Jane still stuck with him like glue. He was more grateful to her for that than he thought it possible to express.
And MJ wasn't the only thing that made his life more than worthwhile. He swung past the tall glass sided building that had once been OsCorp. Now, however, it was Horizon Labs, a subsidiary of Stark Industries, and also the workplace of one Peter Parker himself. The work was nothing like his days toiling at The Daily Bugle, and the pay was enough to keep both him and MJ happy.
Not to mention the staff were very generous when it came to personal time.
Thank God I had today off for MJ's play, Peter thought as he zipped past Horizon and towards Queens. I might have gotten the upper hand on that nutcase with the shiny mug, but MJ would have made Mysterio wish he'd never been born if he'd been the reason I missed seeing her on opening night.
He dropped behind the public library in Queens, falling behind a tall collection of dumpsters. In the warm, late spring sunlight the alley behind the library positively reeked, but it was the perfect hiding place for him to strip off his Spider-Man costume and hastily climb into his civilian clothes. Once, after a night on the town with his best friend, Peter had taken a series of funny pictures of himself getting undressed from his Spider-Man suit. Eddie Brock, just as drunk, had nearly pissed himself laughing, although morning light and a severe talking to from Mary Jane had made them both see sense.
Take the good with the bad, he forced himself to think as he turned onto the street where he and MJ lived. It had been something of a mantra for the entire city since the alien invasion. Sure, a majority of the Bronx had turned into a pit of violent crime in the wake of the attack, but The Avengers had also come out of it, along with a bevy of merchandise based on them.
Nobody ever made cereal with Spider-Man shapes, he thought with a dry grin to himself.
The house in Queens where he and MJ lived had been a blessing in and of itself. It was a single story with a nice backyard in a community that was relatively low on the crime scale: the perfect place for a young couple just starting out in the world, and still relatively affordable. Any and all quirks that came up, Peter could usually fix. It did pay to be a geek sometimes, nomoreso than when he and MJ avoided maintenance fees by having Peter there to get the heat register and air conditioning unit up and running in no time.
It was also only a fifteen minute walk (and three minute swing with a good tailwind) to Aunt May's house, and situated right next door to the person who had snagged the house for Peter and MJ in the first place.
As Peter opened the gate to the small front yard, he caught sight of a lanky teenage boy returning from the back alley with an empty blue recycling bin. He noticed Peter in kind, and smiled, his pearly white teeth contrasting against his smooth, brown skin.
"Miles, my man," Peter said, leaning against the fence that separated his and MJ's house from the Morales home next door. "Doing your part to save the Earth, I see. It really brings a tear to the scientist in me."
"You know it," Miles said. He cradled the bin against his side and fist-bumped Peter across the low, chain-link fence. "At least my Mom is," he amended. "Not that I don't care about recycling. It's just a pain in the ass to have to do."
Peter winced. "Careful, dude. The window's open. Don't want your Mom to hear you being a potty-mouth do you?"
Miles rolled his eyes. "She's decided that fifteen's an okay age for me to say the kind of things you can get away with in a PG-13 movie...at least in the old days. Seeing as she had me when she was sixteen, that's actually a pretty sweet deal."
"Just don't go pulling it at school. I still remember the shouting match when you got suspended in February."
Miles narrowed his eyes. "Hey, come on now Pete...that kid had it coming. Calling Ganke a fat-ass for no damn reason. I'm not sorry I broke his nose, and neither is Mom. She even told the superintendent that."
"Well just don't go getting into trouble this late into the school year, alright?" Rio, Miles' mother, was still working at MJ's old place of work. Her bar-tending job and monthly child support were enough to look after the house, but not nearly enough to accommodate a growing son with a penchant for getting into trouble.
"No sweat," Miles said with another toothy grin. "I've been a good boy since getting that four day vacation. And my grades have been pulling up thanks to all the help you've given me. Mom says if I keep up the good work that we might be able to go to The Hampton's sometime in the summer."
"Between you and me, MJ's probably going to force both of you to go with her when she takes time off."
The door behind Miles opened. Rio, her sleek black hair tied in a ponytail, stood half-way out the door. "Miles, hurry up with that. Dinner's ready."
Miles rolled his eyes with a teenage aloofness that gave Peter a serious case of nostalgia. "Gimme a sec, I'm talking to Peter!"
Rio's eyes flashed with annoyance. She took half a step out the door, her skirt fluttering in the warm breeze. For such a small woman, she could pack a lot of temper, something both Peter and MJ were reminded of every time something set Rio off. "You're gonna be talking to the director of the homeless shelter if you give me that kinda lip again!" She snapped at her son.
Miles deflated, his teenage ego punctured by shame. "Sorry, Mama," he said, turning and walking up the concrete steps with his head down. Rio gave him an imperious look as he walked past her; Miles was almost taller than she was, but he knew better than to give her grief.
Rio let the door close behind her son as she walked down the steps to the fence.
"Sorry, Rio," Peter said, rubbing the back of his head. "I didn't mean to keep him."
"Don't you go apologizing for his back-talking," Rio said. Then, she sighed, the spark of temper leaving her as quickly as Miles' bravado had. "He's a good boy...he's just been getting a little outta hand lately."
"It's called puberty, Rio."
Rio rolled her eyes. "Puberty is eating four plates of chicken casserole in a row. Puberty is me having to wash out stains from his sheets that I don't even wanna think about. Miles is just...I don't know, Pete. He's been getting all jumpy since that attack in The Bronx the other month. You'd think he'd be scared stiff to even leave the house anymore, but not Miles." She shook her head, her young face lined with care and worry for her child.
Then suddenly annoyance sparked behind her green eyes. "All them damn heroes running around. First it was Spider-Man and now it's The Avengers. They're giving him and every other aimless teenager bad ideas."
"Well, The Avengers are too liable in the eyes of the law to let themselves be responsible for any young people trying to play superhero," Peter said evasively.
Rio snorted. "It's not The Avengers I'm worried about. The only thing Miles ever talks about to do with them is Black Widow, not that I blame him...girlfriend kicks some serious ass."
"And,of course, puberty," Peter said with a chuckle.
"And puberty," Rio repeated with a smile of her own. "Nah, Spider-Man's always going to be Miles' hero. Good thing for me he's still got enough sense to not go trying to swing from the top of his school yet."
Peter kicked the grass awkwardly. "He's a smart kid, Rio. He wouldn't do anything like that. And if he tries, tell him that...tell him that I'll go blabbing to Spider-Man myself. I used to be the guy's photographer after all."
Rio laughed. The door behind her squeaked open. Much in the same way that Rio had stood in the door to call him in, Miles now appeared, halfway between the landing of the stairs and the screen door.
"Mama," he said with a dramatic stab at superiority, "hurry up. Dinner's getting cold."
Rio glared at her son. "The only thing that's going to be cold, Miles Morales, is your stiff-ass body once I put you in the ground for sassing me. I brought you into this world and I will take you out!"
Miles stuck his tongue out at Rio but obligingly ducked back inside. Not wanting to remain on the subject of her son's attitude, Peter reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small envelope that he'd been given earlier that morning.
"By the way," he said, handing the envelope to Rio, "these are from MJ. It's tickets for the show tonight."
Rio stared at the envelope with a curious mixture of gratitude and anger. For a moment, she simply held it tightly between her fingers. Peter half expected her to fling it at him and storm away, but Rio Morales wasn't one to turn down a gift from a friend. Charity, yes, but not something that was offered in mere friendship.
"I told her we'd come see her later this month," she said quietly.
"Well, she wanted to make sure that you guys were there for the big night. And those are front row seats, so you'll be with me and Aunt May and Eddie for the whole three hours."
"Tell MJ that she is going to get a good talking to the next time I see her."
Peter smirked. "And I think that you would be the one talking to the director of the homeless shelter in that event."
Rio laughed. "Probably. Well...guess I'll see you both tonight, Peter." She turned and walked back up the steps, her head bowed, still staring at the envelope as though not quite sure what to make of it.
Peter watched her go. People like Rio Morales and her son reminded him constantly that super powers didn't make a person strong. And they sure as hell don't make them any more or less important, he told himself as he stepped into his own home. Let The Avengers take care of the kinds of things that had once been on Spider-Man's plate. They didn't have the things that Peter Parker had to come home to.
The television was still on at a low volume. A small pile of dishes were in the sink in the kitchen, remnants from his breakfast and MJ's lunch. Quietly, Peter rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Taking care not to make too much noise, he walked down the small hallway to his and MJ's bedroom, and quietly opened the door. The blinds were closed, tapping gently against the windowsill in the evening breeze.
MJ was curled up on their queen size bed, the covers pooled at her waist. She was wearing one of his t-shirts; her flaming hair was in disarray, but she looked completely at peace. Peter looked down at her, smiling softly to himself. No matter how many times he saw MJ, he knew that he would always feel this same, giddy warmth in his chest. She was more than just stunningly beautiful: she was courageous, enough so to have saved his life several times during the time when Otto Octavius had been terrorizing the city. She was warm and loving and completely wonderful, and best of all, she was all his. She put up with Spider-Man, had even seen through the mask long before Peter had ever known that she had.
As quietly as he could, he slipped into bed beside her, pulling the sheets around them. He'd only been patrolling the city for a few hours, but it had felt like several days without her.
MJ stirred, and rolled over to cuddle closer to him. Peter smiled, his eyes closed, savoring the warmth and nearness of the woman he loved.
"How was the rat race, Tiger?" She asked sleepily.
"Underwhelming," he said. "Just some nut in a glass mask kidnapping the senator's daughter. Shoulda seen some of the special effects he had, though. It was actually kinda fascinating." He felt MJ poke him in the tummy, and he grunted. "Ow! I meant it was fascinating from a scientific perspective."
"Says your mom," MJ said punitively. Peter could just picture her sticking her tongue out at him, and he grinned in spite of himself.
"She did, did she? MJ, you haven't been playing around with Ouija boards have you? That's just what I need: a demon possessed girlfriend."
"You're possessed by a demon."
"I was in bed last night," Peter fired back, sticking his tongue out, but still not opening his eyes. It felt too damn good to be with her like this, just goofing off in bed for the hell of it.
Mary Jane giggled, and then poked him again. Peter felt her stir briefly out of his arms for a moment before she settled on top of him, straddling his waist, the ends of her hair tickling his face.
Heat pooled in the pit of Peter's stomach. He felt his mind go slightly numb at the suggestion. Before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arms around Mary Jane and pulled her closer to him. Their lips met, warm and wet and needy. Peter wanted to drown in it, in her. Even if he hadn't been gone all that long, the insecurities he tried so hard to swallow down had been woken up by the hostage that he had saved. He didn't want to be the kind of hero that whined and complained because there was no longer job security for him. He wanted to be the kind of hero who treasured moments where he wasn't behind a mask and fighting with maniacs with holographs in glass spheres.
Opening his eyes, he flipped them over, pressing against Mary Jane as he trailed kisses down her throat. MJ let out a gasp, her fingers digging into his back. Peter felt suddenly too warm in his t-shirt, and he peeled it off and threw it across the room before diving back down to devour the woman he loved.
Suddenly she stilled and turned her head to the alarm clock on the night side table.
"Oh shit!" She squealed. Peter found himself suddenly tumbling off of the bed as MJ all but sprung from the mattress. "I can't believe that I overslept that long!"
"What?" Peter said dumbly from the floor. But Mary Jane ignored him, flying around the room and gathering up clothes and her make up bag.
"I thought I set the alarm on my phone too," MJ wailed, disappearing into the bathroom that adjoined their bedroom.
"What alarm?" Peter said, still completely bemused. "MJ, my radioactive blood is kinda rushing in the opposite direction of my brain. What's going on? I thought the show didn't start until nine!"
"I know," MJ said from the bathroom. Peter heard the sounds of the shower starting and decided to pick himself up from off the floor. "But there's still the last minute run through. It's so stupid. It's not even a rehearsal. They just want to make sure everything is in working order and I've gotta be there by seven."
Peter looked at the alarm clock and felt his heart sink. It was a little before six, and with the commute factored in, MJ would have to be out the door within fifteen minutes.
"I could...I could always swing you there," Peter said, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom. MJ had already pulled the shower curtain closed. She poked her head out from the stall, her hair already sopping wet.
"Would you really?"
"Of course, honey," Peter said with a smile. He wiggled his eyebrows and added, "It'll give us at least a little bit of time for what Aunt May refers to as hanky panky."
MJ giggled and then bit her lip. After a moment's hesitation, she disappeared around the shower curtain once more and said, "Nah, I'd better just hoof it the old fashioned way, Tiger. I'm already dodging questions about me and Spider-Man thanks to that article last Christmas. And we both know where that lead."
Peter winced as guilt stabbed at him again. Eddie had taken an opportune picture of Spider-Man standing next to MJ after an attack on a mall in Queens. The Daily Bugle had run it, and Peter was quite sure that that was the reason that Doc Ock had had MJ kidnapped along with Eddie on Christmas Eve.
"Aw Tiger," MJ said, ducking out from the shower after turning off the water and wrapping a towel around herself. Hurried as she was, she still looked immensely guilty for what she had said. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just-"
"No," Peter said, shaking his head and smiling. "You're right. It'd kill me if anything happened to you because of Spider-Man. You know that."
MJ smiled appreciatively at him, and then bit her bottom lip, looking pensive. Whether it was a result of his spider-senses, Peter really didn't know, but he anticipated what she was going to say before she even said it.
"You are not giving up on this because of my occupational hazards," he said sternly. "We've been through this, MJ." The day he got in the way of her dreams was the day that he actually grew an extra set of arms to match his namesake.
"I know," she said, walking into his arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her warm, wet skin against his bare chest. "It just feels rotten to give you the slip so suddenly. Especially when things were just getting good."
His arms around her, Peter kissed the top of her head and said, "Well look at it this way: putting off a little fun time right now means we'll have more energy after you knock 'em dead tonight."
"Totally. We'll wake the neighbors, Tiger."
"Damn straight we will. It's about time somebody explained the birds and the bees to Miles anyway."
Laughing again, MJ gave Peter a quick kiss on the lips and then hurried off to finish getting ready. Peter, suddenly realizing just how tired he was from his little tussle with Mysterio earlier, collapsed on the bed once more, his eyes closed, listening to the noises of Mary Jane prattling around in the bathroom as she got ready to leave.
It didn't matter to him. She was going to make a killing at the show, and that would make her happy. If anybody deserved happiness, it was Mary Jane. There was a new crew in town, one that was far more capable than Spider-Man at cleaning up the city's messes. It left him time for this, time to watch MJ's dreams flourish.
That's all that counts, Peter thought as he rolled over onto his stomach.
But, gnawing at him from a dark pocket of his mind was also a thought that had been plaguing him ever since The Avengers had first shown up to take care of the streets of New York City. It had crawled into his mind like an incubus, rising at times like this whenever he let his guard down.
Without the need to suit up as much as he used to, and with MJ busy with her growing career, there were times when Peter Parker felt completely and utterly useless.